I answered:
"What, my dear?"
"Have you opened the door?"
"No, love."
"Have you been up at all since you laid down?"
"No, Rachel."
"Who opened the door?"
"I do not know."
"Didn"t you hear it open?"
"Yes."
"And it is open now!"
"I see it is."
"But how came it open?"
"I do not know; perhaps it was not quite locked, and the catch flew back."
"Oh, perhaps that was it," said Rachel; and, though her teeth were chattering with a nervous tremor, she got out of bed, and went to the door, to close and lock it, And, reader, the black-robed woman pa.s.sed out before her, and she saw her not.
I fell back upon my pillow, nearer swooning than ever I had been in my life; for now I knew that this was no dream, but a vision--an apparition to me, and to me only.
I slept no more that night.
And in the morning when I arose, and looked into the gla.s.s, I was startled at the haggardness of my own face.
When we appeared at the breakfast-table, some of the young people remarked my paleness, and said that I had been frolicking more than was good for me. Then one of the company inquired of Rachel Noales how she had rested.
"Not very well," Rachel answered; "I was frightened by the door flying open in the middle of the night."
I noticed a quick, intelligent look pa.s.s between Mathilde and her mother, while Rachel continued:
"I thought at first that it was thieves breaking in; but I know now that it flew open because Agnes had not locked the door fast enough to hold it."
"No, I had not," said I.
The arrival of the mailbag put an end to this discussion. The letters were distributed at the table. Among them was one from my brother to Mr.
Legare, accepting his invitation for himself and his friend, whom he begged to name as the Hon. Francis Howard, of Ma.s.sachusetts, and announcing the letter as a mere _avant courier_ of the party which would reach Frost Height that afternoon.
Upon hearing the name of Frank Howard as the "friend" of John and their expected guest, Mathilde flushed and paled, and was quite unable to conceal from the interested scrutiny of her parents the emotion these tidings caused her.
As for Mr. Legare, upon reading his name, he said: "Humph!" and "humph!"
very emphatically several times before he could get any further. But he considered his hospitality implicated; nay, his honor pledged to receive and treat with politeness the guest that he had so unconsciously invited. He was a fine old gentleman, notwithstanding his prejudices--was Mr. Legare.
So, in the afternoon, once more Uncle Judah was ordered to take the mules and go up to Frost Height to meet the stage-coach, and bring two visitors to the house; an order so little to the old man"s satisfaction that he vented his disapprobation in the exclamation:
"Ole ma.s.se better had set up "Entertainment for Man and Beast" at once."
As usual, when expecting a new arrival of visitors, Mrs. Legare put back her tea hour, and prepared a supper of extra luxuriousness. And Mr.
Legare brewed the great ancestral punchbowl to the brim with rich, frothy eggnog, and set it away to "mellow," against the coming of the gentlemen.
"My dear mother and father! they have n.o.ble hearts in spite of their social conservatism! And you shall see that they will treat my Frank with as much kindness and respect as if they did not consider him a sort of wolf, prowling about after their one ewe lamb," said Mathilde, with tears of affection br.i.m.m.i.n.g to her eyes.
"And you see, my darling, it is as I foretold you it would be. He is seeking you now in your own home. And under what favorable circ.u.mstances--the invited guest of your father. How very providential the whole train of events! Trust still in Divine Providence; and if your love is a true love, it will end happily," I answered.
And in my deep sympathy with Mathilde"s joy, I almost forgot that I was a haunted maiden, with some, as yet unknown, supernatural mission to accomplish.
I was resolved, if possible, before the day should be over, to hear from Mathilde the tragic story of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, whose portrait I had mentally identified as that of the awful visitant of my midnight hours. The opportunity came, or rather, I made it. Mathilde had early completed her toilet for the evening. I had done likewise. And at five o"clock we found ourselves alone together in the drawing-room of the new house. The lamps were not as yet lighted. The hickory fire had ceased to blaze, and now only burned redly, showing out a strong, solid heat, in what Uncle Judah called "solemn columns," and casting over the dark chamber a sombre, ruddy twilight. We sat down by the fire together.
There would be no chance for the next half hour of being interrupted.
For Mr. Legare was still engaged at his breakfast in the dining-room.
Mrs. Legare was busy in her pantry and the kitchen, and the few servants of the now reduced establishment were in constant attendance upon their master or mistress.
Rachel Noales was upstairs in my chamber, dressing for the evening, and the other young persons of the Christmas party were in the bedrooms of the old house, similarly engaged.
There was not the slightest possibility of an interruption.
Mathilde commenced speaking.
"I believe you are pleased with your chamber, Agnes?"
"Charmed," I answered.
Without perceiving the _double entendre_ hidden in my reply, she said:
"And you have always slept well, then?"
"Never better," I replied; "in that chamber," I mentally added.
In her ignorance of this silent reservation, she was pleased with my answer, and sat smiling quietly and studying, apparently, the glowing coals of fire in the chimneyplace.
I broke her reverie by saying, in a careless, off-hand way:
"_Apropos de rien_, you have not told me the story of that mysterious portrait yet."
"No, I haven"t! But, indeed, I am not sure that the history of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan has anything to do with that portrait, since I am not sure that it is hers."
"No matter; take it for granted that it is; or at least tell the story whether or not."